The Other Twin
by Appello
Summary: George Weasley reflects on always coming second best to his twin. One shot, drabble...


Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling…except the plot.

The Other Twin

By Appello

George Weasley had always been second best. From the moment he was born, 10 minutes after his twin, he had felt inadequate. Like he was always just a stride behind. And he never had managed to catch up.

He was able to accept it though. He had always been able to accept it. When Fred had gotten on to the Gryffindor quidditch team in his second year and George hadn't, he didn't say anything. Just trained all the more harder, refusing to give in. And sure enough, in his third year, all his hard work paid off, and he got offered a spot alongside his twin as a beater.

And when Fred topped every single one of his classes, without even trying, while George only came second best after studying all night, he took it in his stride. Nor did he comment when Fred asked him to cover for him in potions, while he snuck off with Arabella Carrows, whom George had always harboured a secret fancy. He just accepted that Fred was the one who would get lucky, while he was stuck in class explaining his twin's absence to a very angry Professor Snape.

No, George never complained. He knew Fred would do anything for him, just as he would do anything for Fred. It was just the way it was always going to be, with Fred leading and George following.

So he joined in the wild frolics he and Fred got up to, and let Fred take all the praise for them, while he took all the blame. He never let anyone know how unhappy he was, and when Fred was caught dropping dungbombs in the hallway and told Filch he was George, he just accepted it with a resigned sigh, and went to do his brother's detention.

He thought things might change when they left school, but he was wrong. When they started the joke shop, he spent all his time behind the scenes, mixing up the amazing tricks and jokes that he and Fred thought of, while his twin stood behind the counter, flirting with the customers and basking in their attention.

George could feel the small knot of jealousy growing inside of him, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Fred was better than him. With everything. It was just a fact of life.

The same thing happened on their twentieth birthday. The whole duration of the party Fred had been in the spotlight, while George ran around fixing the things that were broken, and making sure everybody else was having a good time. He was fine with that, since he was secretly eyeing off Angelina while he did so. He felt his body ache with longing for the gorgeous girl, who was dancing solo in the centre of the dance floor, her hair flying around her like a velvet curtain. George had always loved Angelina, but he had pushed it to the very back of his mind, knowing that Fred wanted her. And whatever Fred wanted, Fred got.

Now, however, he felt a surge of desire stronger than his loyalty to his twin, and, bracing himself, he stepped forward, preparing to ask Angelina for the next dance. Before he could reach her however, Fred was at her side, kneeling down on one knee, a hopeful, puppy-dog expression on his face which George knew only too well. He watched, as if in slow motion, as Fred took the tiny little box out of his pocket and presented it to Angelina. Hating himself, George willed her to say no, to slap Fred and run to him instead. He, who had always loved her, while Fred frolicked with any girl who would have him.

But Angelina didn't shake her head, didn't slap Fred and run to him. Instead she uttered a breathless 'yes', and flung herself onto her new fiancé, kissing him passionately. There were cheers from the crowd, and George forced himself to join in, even though the jealous monster within him was roaring in pain.

Even then, George managed to maintain his façade of happiness for the new couple. He congratulated them, patted Fred on the back along with the rest of his brothers, even controlled himself enough to give Angelina a brotherly hug and tell her he was happy for her.

Everywhere he went for the rest of the evening, he could always see Fred and Angelina snogging out of the corner of his vision. Even when he shut his eyes, he could still see them. He was sure the image would haunt him for the rest of his life.

When Fred died, killed by Voldemort himself, practically the entire wizarding world turned out to pay their respects. They came up to George, tears streaming down their faces, and told them how sorry they were that he had had to lose a twin, and how much of a great man Fred Weasley had been. George just stood there, his arm around his sobbing mother, feeling numb. Completely numb.

Angelina came to him that night, in his apartment. She was crying, and threw herself on him, kissing him fiercely. George didn't protest, didn't ask why she was there. He didn't want to know.

She came to him almost every night from then on. But she always kept her eyes shut, and it was not his name she whispered as she clung to him. It was Fred's. It was always Fred's.

The irony of it all haunted him. Even in death his twin had beaten him. He died the noble way, killed for what he believed in, while George stayed alive, too cowardly to join him, too eaten up with jealousy to enjoy life.

Screwing his brother's fiancé.

One night, as Angelina prepared to apparate back to her own apartment, George let the question slip out of him.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, leaning on one elbow to look at the widow before him. Her eyes were dead, as was the beauty that used to fill them. Angelina was a walking image of grief.

"You want the truth?" she asked quietly. Her face was lined beyond its twenty-one years.

George nodded. "I want the truth."

"You look like Fred."

She disapparated then, vanishing before his very eyes. And she didn't come again. George figured she must have found another way to cope with her pain.

In a way he was jealous.

He was always jealous…

The End


End file.
